Twenty Questions
by K Hanna Korossy
Summary: Like a Virgin missing scenes and tag: Sam has a lot of catching up to do.


_With this piece, I've started up writing a fic for every episode again, going back to the beginning of Season Six where I left off. But since I only write Sam **and** Dean stories, and Sam was effectively replaced the first eleven episodes of the season with a soulless copy, consider this a catch-all piece for 6.01-6.12, and then we'll go from there. -KHK_

**Twenty Questions**  
K Hanna Korossy

So Dean might've said that there was nothing else Sam needed to know—besides the reason for his mysterious return from Hell eighteen months later—but that turned out to be not quite true. Over two bottles of rotgut, a whole refrigerator door shelf of Bobby's beer, and a steady stream of sandwiches and fried eggs, it turned out he'd missed an awful lot during his time below.

There was the good news.

_"So the deal's definitely broken? You get to keep the legs, but no other hidden clauses or loopholes? That's…that's great, Bobby. I wish I'd been here to help."_

The not-so-good news.

_"Dude, you realize how many weapons of Heaven there could be? The holy grail, Christ's burial shroud, the Ark of the Covenant… What's so funny?"_

The game changers.

_"A djinn antidote, a vampire cure, and you can burn the original spirit's bones to kill a demon? Next you're gonna tell me the monsters are changing the rules— Oh, c'mon!"_

The lighter side.

_ "Bobby loves pedicures and Tori _who_?"_

And the news on the home front.

_"Okay, so, let me get this straight. Our grandfather's back from the dead and leading a whole bunch of our hunter cousins we never knew about, but he was secretly working for Crowley—who became the King of Hell but is dead now, by the way—trying to find Purgatory, but no one knows why. Oh yeah, and Meg helped you beat him. Did the Easter Bunny make an appearance in all this, too?"_

That hadn't even been all.

_"So these Alphas, they're, what, recruiting monsters and we still don't know why? Right, that's not ominous." _

_ "Cas is losing out to Raphael, huh? Where's this dude Balthazar fit in? Is he all high-and-mighty, too? Wait, what's that look for?"_

_ "Leprechauns?!"_

It was after midnight that Dean switched them to water, leaned in, and started asking the questions.

_"Yeah, that was Lucifer right after I said yes, not me. He just…it was like jumping into the middle of the ocean, you know? From the first second, I was, like, in a mile over my head. But he made me watch as he messed with you…" _

_ "I think I know now why all of Mom's friends and family are dead. Lucifer showed me, all these people we knew growing up were possessed. Dean, they were pulling our—my—strings from the start…"_

_ "…and then I looked up and…there was that stupid little green army guy in the door you never let me take out. And it was just like…I remembered. And I was _me _again…"_

He didn't know when he fell asleep, or what it was exactly that had left the dried tear tracks on his face when he woke the next morning, his head down on the kitchen table and a blanket draped over his back.

00000

He was incredibly tired, for some reason. _Dude, you spent more than a year of _our _time in Hell, _Dean pointed out, but there was something in his eyes that suggested it was more than that.

Sam wouldn't push, not yet. He ate a whole box of Lucky Charms Bobby had somehow acquired, took a long shower, then crawled into bed.

Dean wanted to leave him to his nap, but Sam asked him to stay. He wasn't used to sleeping in quiet, and wanted it even less now when the memories were still fresh of Castiel and Bobby dead and Dean a bloody pulp in his hands.

And it let him ask about something else he'd just discovered. "Hey, there's this cut on my leg that looks like it happened a few days ago. How did I get that?"

He was pretty sure he saw Dean stiffen. "No idea. We just found you that way."

"Right. In Stull."

"Well, Cas did. After he felt the disturbance in the Force and went and got you."

Dean had his back to him, folding clothes, so Sam couldn't see his face. He was pretty sure Dean was lying, but even more sure that the topic was a painful one and he wasn't being secretive so much as not ready to discuss it. Which bugged Sam, but he could live with it. He remembered what it was like, being topside while his brother was in Hell. It ached like an old wound whenever he thought about it.

He cleared his throat. "And…looks like I did some working out in the Cage, too."

Another almost invisible pause in Dean's movements. Sam's eyes narrowed even as Dean huffed a laugh that, if Sam wouldn't have known better, sounded genuine. "Maybe whatever brought you back was trying to do you a favor. You sure it didn't add a couple of inches while it was at it?"

Sam grumbled the requisite suggestion of what Dean could do with his own fewer inches, then turned to the ceiling, hands laced behind his head. It felt like the more questions he asked, the more he ended up with. And he had no doubt Dean was hiding something. Probably a lot of somethings. Sam just wasn't sure what that meant.

Sleep was pulling at him. _That _made sense; he probably hadn't gotten much rest in Hell. Funny, he'd have thought whatever restored his body would've accounted for that, but whatever.

He was still half-awake when he felt Dean lower his arms and pull the blanket up over him, but it slid him under as easy as a lullaby.

00000

It felt good to be on a case again. Okay, so Bobby's handing over the reins had been a little…weird. And Sam wasn't about to tell Dean how tired he still felt. But when his last handful of memories had been preparation for the end of the world or, best case, his death and eternal torment, hunting with Dean again was a gift. They had no idea what they were dealing with besides a couple of strange disappearances, but Sam was basking in the joy of research and a mystery he could solve.

Unlike his own reappearance, which kept getting more mysterious.

He was sleepy despite having slept in the car most of the way to Portland, but his mind's churning kept him awake. His thoughts slipped from the strange plane crash, to the pattern of missing girls, to what he was missing with Dean. He'd been sure Dean hadn't gone to Lisa and Ben after Sam's jump, but his brother had surprised him there. Only, _it didn't work out _wasn't very revealing. Dean clearly didn't want to talk about that, either, but this was one topic Sam couldn't leave alone. Not with the pain he'd heard in Dean's voice.

He didn't need to glance over to see his brother wasn't asleep, either. Dean could make himself fall asleep anywhere, a soldier's trick Sam had never quite mastered, so that meant he was lying awake thinking, too. Might as well do it together.

Besides, he knew Dean. There were things his brother would never be able to say to his face that might slip out in the cover of darkness.

He cleared his throat. "So, uh. What happened with Lisa and Ben?"

Dean froze. Even his breathing paused.

A few beats, then Sam turned to look at the dark shape of his brother. "Hey," he said quietly.

Dean raggedly inhaled.

Sam flinched. "They're…they're not…?"

"They're fine," Dean said, voice low and husky. "I told you, it's over, Sam."

Not so sleepy now, he waited patiently, knowing Dean would keep talking if Sam didn't push.

Another minute, and Dean did.

It was a long time before Sam finally fell asleep.

00000

A lot happened in the world in a year and a half. A bunch of Chilean miners had become the feel-good story of the year. A major oil rig explosion and spill in the Gulf was the biggest catastrophe since the Apocalypse ended…or maybe it had been Lucifer's last hurrah. Dean had probably mourned the passing of Dennis Hopper and Leslie Nielsen, while Sam was sorry to hear about Tony Curtis.

And he kinda—okay, really—wanted an iPad.

00000

Bobby had gone to bed, clearly still disturbed by his findings about the ill-boding "Mother" and the method to retrieve her from Purgatory. Sam would have been worried about that, too, if he hadn't still been reeling from his own discoveries. Like that his body had been out of Hell a lot longer than _Sam _himself.

He picked his moment carefully, waiting until Dean was in Bobby's workshop, busy cleaning the Impala's spark plugs. It would give him something to do with his hands and let him avoid looking Sam in the face. Like talking in the dark, Dean was far likelier to open up here, and far less likely to just walk away from Sam and his questions.

"Okay, I understand about not messing with Death's wall, okay? I do. But, c'mon, man, you gotta give me something here. You're telling me I was walking around without a compass for over a year that I don't even remember. If it was you, wouldn't that be eating at you?"

He could see Dean's white-knuckled clench of the oil rag. "Sam…"

"Look, I'm not asking you to jog my memory or, or tell me the embarrassing stuff. Just…fill me in on what I maybe need to know, okay? Like where I got the cut on my leg, or why my back hurts or, crap, why I wanted to kill Bobby."

Dean turned his head so he was in profile, shaded by the overhead light of the workshop. Sam idly recalled that it was here that Dean first met Castiel, the angel arriving in a display of shock and awe, and Sam wondered how many other memories this place held. Some of which he didn't remember, and that was an itch even without that ill-fitting wall.

"Okay?" he added, maybe a little pleadingly.

Dean sighed. "We don't know why you wanted to kill Bobby. All you said was it had something to do with a spell, we're guessing something to keep your soul out. You, uh, weren't that excited about getting it back."

Sam shifted where he sat on the workbench, frowning. "Why not?"

Dean was wiping the plug in his hand until it was probably shinier than new. "I…maybe…might've given you—Robo-you—the impression a soul meant, you know, suffering."

Sam chewed his lip. "Okay, I guess I can see—"

"Your leg got banged up when Bobby was trying to contain you to save himself. I'm guessing your back's the same, though, going up against the leprechaun and Crowley's demons wasn't exactly a walk in the park."

"Huh." He was still trying to wrap his head around leprechauns being real, let alone dangerous. "And the, uh…" Sam stood and moved closer to Dean, and flexed an arm, still shocked at the thickness of muscle on it.

Dean had turned just enough to see what he was talking about, and flicked him a smile. "Dude, I have no idea—I guess not having a soul means lots of exercise and red meat." He cocked his head. "And it wasn't like you didn't have the time to work out. I don't know what having a soul had to do with it, but you never slept."

Sam's jaw dropped. "Wait, I…what?" Well, that explained the constant fatigue. Sort of.

"And the Schwarzenegger look might've had to do with you getting laid every town we hit," Dean glibly continued.

Pole-axed, Sam stumbled back to sink back down on the bench.

Dean glanced over at him, did a double-take, and dropped the rag, taking a step closer like he was ready to catch Sam if he toppled. Which he wasn't far from doing, but Sam tried to blink his shock away. "I should…I should probably…you know, get tested or something," he murmured.

Dean dropped into a crouch, putting himself just below Sam's eye level. "Sorry, man, I probably should've eased you into that one. But it wasn't like when Meg was driving you, okay? He cared about keeping you safe—I'm sure he, uh…" Dean actually was blushing a little, rubbing the back of his head in discomfort. "…took precautions. He wasn't all bad, you know? I mean, he was still on the right side, even if he was a little too gung-ho for his work, still wanted to hunt together, and he did want his soul back at first. He said all the stuff he remembered from your life made him think you were better off that way. But when Cas and Crowley ended up on the same page about it being suicide, he started having second thoughts."

"Cas didn't want me to get my soul back?" Sam asked quietly. The angel had conveniently forgotten to mention that.

Dean was still looking at him all earnest, which usually meant there was more bad news coming. "They said you were in rough shape from being Lucifer's chew toy so long, that it would probably kill you."

"Right," Sam snorted, "because it's more important that my body be okay than that my soul—than _I_—get out of Hell's dungeon. Good to know."

"Cas was just worried about you—"

"No, Dean. _You_ were worried about me, and you were still willing to take the chance." Sam smiled, but it felt tight, pained. "Even if I'd died, at least I wouldn't have gone back…there."

Dean's emotions were close to the surface, too, his eyes more full than Sam could bear to look at. He only just realized, too, that at some point Dean's hand had landed on his knee.

"So, uh." He cleared his throat. "You gonna tell me how you got Death to play deliveryman for you?"

Dean's mouth twitched. "Maybe later. You've got that look like when you were three and needed a nap."

Sam rolled his eyes. "I don't need—"

"Sound the same, too." Dean thumped his leg and stood. "Oh, and, soulless-you? Was a kick-ass hunter, and you should've seen the way he, I mean you, played poker." Dean's eyebrows rose, impressed.

"Thanks," Sam said dryly. "Good to know that losing my pesky conscience made me so much better at everything."

"Not everything, Sam," Dean said, surprisingly gentle.

It was Sam's turn to blush at that. The way his skin warmed, he was pretty sure it was the first in a long time.

00000

Further tidbits slipped out over time. Kind of unbelievable things, like Sam getting his own car, or Castiel watching porn…and kissing Meg? He was pretty sure Dean was exaggerating that one. And since when did Cas have to stick his hand in people to see if they had a soul? He'd known at a glance when Famine had been collecting human souls for take-out. So, yeah, Sam wished he could remember the way some things had really gone down.

Then again, he was more than glad not to have any memory of flying to Scotland with Dean. He could just imagine how much fun that had been.

00000

Other things, he had to eventually coax out.

"_So, you think Death could bring Adam out of the Cage, too? I mean, if he could get me… Dean, what?"_

"_You never told Lisa about the vampire thing, seriously? Dude, call her. Now." _And, a half-hour later, _"Hey, I'm sorry." _

Dean shared the part of his journal he'd kept from Sam those first few days, filling him in on hunts they'd apparently done together. There were updates on skinwalkers—_"I _knew _we'd hunted one!"_—and shapeshifters, new and improved djinn and biblical plagues, Alphas and…the goddess Veritas? And leprechauns, which, _"Man, that never gets less funny."_

On a hunt, it was, _"Dude, it was just a Black Dog, not a Hellhound… Wait, did you run into Hellhounds while I was gone, too?" _Because that's what they'd started calling it, _while I was gone. _Sam was pretty sure thinking about it like that made both of them feel better.

Not to mention,_ "Bobby seriously said we never help him? What about the dream root case? And when Karen came back? And—you better bet I'm calling him!"_

00000

There was one big reveal that took a long time to find out, though, as reluctant as Bobby, Dean, _and _Castiel all seemed to be talk about it.

Sam first thought it was that he'd let Dean get turned by a vampire, which Castiel had shared willingly enough but that was still so awful, they never really talked about it. Turned out Dean had fewer hang-ups about what happened than Sam did, however, having written it off with a simple, _"It wasn't you." _Didn't keep Sam from feeling churning guilt whenever he thought about it, but raising the issue bothered Dean more than the actual event, so Sam reluctantly let it go.

In the end, it was an offhand remark of Bobby's as they sat around the den shooting the breeze that made Sam pause and backtrack over the information he'd gathered. His brow furrowed as he realized he'd been missing something.

"Wait, wait, are you saying… Bobby, you knew he—I—was back for almost the whole year?"

Bobby's mouth opened and shut, then pinched together with that uncomfortable look he got when he'd been found out. "Well, obviously I didn't know it wasn't, you know, all of you. But yeah, Sambot-you came to me a couple of times when you needed some intel about a hunt."

Sam glanced at Dean, wondering if he'd understood that wrong, only to see Dean take a gulp of Jack and turn away. Yeah, he was really hearing what he thought he was hearing. He wheeled back on Bobby. "And you didn't tell Dean?"

Bobby flushed. "Now listen, Sam, you didn't see him with Lisa and her boy. He got out of the life and started a new one, family and all. He had it better than most hunters I've seen, and you weren't exactly chompin' at the bit for a family reunion, so yeah, I let it go. Balls, Sam, _you_ asked me to."

Sam almost laughed. "And that didn't give you a clue something was wrong with me?"

Bobby's jaw bunched. But he only averted his eyes from Sam when Dean suddenly got to his feet and strode out the door.

Staring at Bobby a moment more in disbelief, Sam got up and went after his brother.

Dean, unsurprisingly, had sought out his comfort zone. Sam found him puttering in the Impala's trunk, rearranging an array of weapons that was bigger than Sam had remembered but that looked plenty organized to him already.

Sam leaned one hip against the side of the car, picking his words carefully. Considering how guilty Bobby looked and what an unhealed wound it obviously was for Dean, he ended up opting for diplomacy. "He was doing what he thought was best for you."

It was a match to a fuse. Dean slammed the trunk shut, missing Sam by a scant inch, and faced him, eyes blazing.

"You know how when somebody you love first dies, it hurts like Hell, but slowly it gets better? It never got better, Sam. You weren't just dead and gone, you were _suffering_, being tortured, and I knew exactly how bad that was. And if you think I could enjoy any Little League game, or backyard barbeque, or one minute with Lisa while all the time what you were going through was screaming through my head…" He ducked his head back, expression going flat. "Well, I guess you don't remember everything about me, Sam." He lifted a finger. "But don't you ever, _ever _try to tell me again that you staying away was for my own good."

"Hey," Sam said softly, hands lifting briefly. "Got a soul now, remember?" He dropped his hands. "Crap, Dean, the first—and second, and third—thing I did after you died was try to get _you _back."

Dean looked at him a moment, then jerked a nod down at the dirt floor.

"Just 'cause I got the Zippo in my pocket doesn't mean I would've ever wanted to set fire to the city," Sam added quietly.

"Yeah, well, you ask me, that's what counts." Dean gave him another piercingly earnest look. "Clean slate, brother."

Sam managed a smile. "I'll try, all right?"

Dean patted him on the arm as he passed him on the way inside. "Fair enough."

00000

It wasn't that easy, of course. There was an awkward clearing of the air with Bobby over the whole "going Menendez on him" thing, then another between Bobby and Dean in which Dean reluctantly acknowledged that Bobby had been trying to do good by him, and Bobby that he'd been a jackass. Drinks all around seemed to seal the deal far more effectively than any words.

Sam's call to Lisa was carried out more privately, in a quiet far corner of the junkyard. She was glad to hear from him, thanked him for his concern and explanations, then gently told him to mind his own business. It sounded like she was moving on, and Sam felt his heart break a little more for his brother as he clicked off. He wouldn't be telling Dean about the call.

There were doubtless a million other details about his soulless adventures that he still didn't know and might never. But he could tell Dean and Bobby weren't hiding anything else from him, and that would just have to suffice. No matter what he claimed or felt he should claim, Sam actually preferred some ignorance.

Which left only one matter unfinished.

They were on their way to Bristol, responding to an anonymous text message Sam had gotten that Dean was suspicious of but that they knew needed to be checked out. They followed the coast north, and Sam breathed deep the sea air, feeling a quiet contentment despite the unknown danger they were heading into.

He turned to Dean in the driver's seat. "You know I would've wanted it, right?"

Dean gave him a quick puzzled glance before returning his eyes to the road. "You have the rest of that conversation in your head, Sammy?"

"I would have wanted my soul back. If I hadn't been, you know, soulless. Even if the wall folds one day…I still would've chosen that."

Because, yeah, a soul meant suffering, and pain, and loss. But his deficient self would never have been able to appreciate the love or loyalty it also enjoyed, wouldn't have been able to fathom how the good could so outweigh the bad. It wouldn't have been able to appreciate the ridiculousness of leprechauns or recognize that living the dream wasn't the same as _living. _And it would never have known the simple pleasure of being with someone who cared about you and whose presence you enjoyed. Maybe that Sam had been a better hunter, but _this _Sam was sure he hadn't been a better person.

"Dude," Dean said after a moment, sounding oddly gruff. "You're such a girl."

Yeah, Sam sat back with a smile, or that.

**The End**


End file.
